


Finding Beauty

by magisterpavus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Curses, Dragons, F/M, Knights - Freeform, Magic, Princes & Princesses, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 11:58:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13457787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterpavus/pseuds/magisterpavus
Summary: After years of war between the Galrans and Alteans, the Galran Emperor is killed and his widow seeks revenge in the form of a cruel curse, binding the young Princess Allura into the body of a dragon and unleashing a seemingly unstoppable corruption upon the kingdom.





	Finding Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the wonderful @unmints/@unprincessed on tumblr!
> 
> something a little different, a short and semi-dark, semi-whimsical Shallura fantasy au :D enjoy!

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful kingdom called Altea ruled by a just king and queen who were greatly loved by their subjects. They were agents of peace and harmony in their kingdom and in all neighboring kingdoms...all, save one. 

You see, in the mountains to the north of Altea stood a dark and formidable fortress ruled by a warmongering king feared by many. He was the lord of the Galra, who were mysterious and monstrous beings of fire and sky, and who were known to their enemies as dragon shifters. Their king, Zarkon, was the mightiest of them all, and under him many Altean villages were raided and burned to the ground, hundreds of humans and livestock alike slaughtered by the flames and teeth of Zarkon’s soldiers. Altea could no longer ignore the threat they posed, and so with a heavy heart King Alfor declared war on the Galra. 

The war lasted a long and brutal nine months, during which the queen was pregnant; and so it happened that at the end of the war, after King Alfor emerged victorious from Zarkon’s fortress with the great dragon’s head, the queen gave birth to her first child. All of Altea celebrated joyously — not only had the terrible war against the savage dragons of Galra been won, but the royal family had been graced with an heir, a beautiful baby girl who they named Princess Allura.

But the Galrans were in a fouler mood. Zarkon’s murder, they felt, had been needlessly brutal and cruel, and so many of them held anger in their hearts against King Alfor. And no one among them was angrier than Zarkon’s widow, an Altean herself who had been exiled by Alfor many years ago. She had been an alchemist named Honerva in Altea, but Zarkon had called her Haggar, and to the Galra she was a dangerous yet brilliant witch. 

Haggar’s experiments had been deemed too dark and unseemly by Alfor, but under Zarkon she had been encouraged to delve ever deeper into the darkness. But for all her brilliance, Haggar had been unable to create the weapon Zarkon wanted to end the war and secure the Galra’s victory, and Alfor had killed Zarkon. Consumed with guilt for this failure, Haggar was determined to create and use an even more awful weapon now to enact her revenge against Alfor and his kingdom, no matter what the cost. 

So on the day of Princess Allura’s coronation and presentation to the public, Haggar and her Galran lackeys infiltrated the palace and set their vengeful plan into motion. The kingdom was oblivious to the looming danger — all eyes were on the princess, who represented hope and a new era of peace to the people of the kingdom. They were tired of war, and gladly seized a distraction from all the violence and death.

Haggar had learned the ways of shifters from the Galra, and so disguised herself as an elegant old woman before the royal family as they received gifts for the baby princess. She knelt, and presented to Princess Allura a small wooden box, covered in intricate engravings and softly glowing glyphs.

Alfor, none the wiser, recognized only that the box was magical in nature and questioned its purpose.

Haggar said, “This is a very special gift, Your Majesty, and you must keep it safe for your daughter. I can see the future, you see, and one day years from now something terrible yet unavoidable will befall your house. On that day, you must give this box to Princess Allura, for only she can open it, and when she does, all will be right again.”

The queen was frightened by this prophecy, and cautioned her husband to heed it more closely, but Alfor had never been one for caution and took the box with curiosity and gratitude. Haggar left the kingdom satisfied — the seed of destruction had been planted, and the only thing left to do was to wait. 

Everything was as Haggar had said — thirteen years later, at the peak of Altea’s peace and prosperity, the queen fell deathly ill, seized by a sudden and unexplainable ailment that terrified Alfor and his daughter. Princess Allura had grown into an intelligent, kindhearted, beautiful young woman with the same sense of justice and potential for leadership as her parents, and seeing her mother so sick filled Allura with an awful sense of foreboding. 

But King Alfor, after his initial panic, remembered Haggar’s gift and presented the long-hidden box to his daughter. He told her that only she could open it, and long ago, a strange noblewoman had prophesied that it would set things right.

As soon as Princess Allura lifted the lid of the box, the magic contained within it rushed out in violet-black tendrils like a living, noxious smoke. Knowing at once that the box contained a terrible evil, Allura struggled to shut it again, but it was no use – the damage had been done, by her own hands.

King Alfor watched in horror as the tendrils of smoke swirled quickly outwards, growing and darkening, piercing through the palace walls and filling the sky to cast their ominous shadows over the entire kingdom. Yet the most horrifying thing was the sight of his own daughter, who fell to her knees as more smoky tendrils swirled around her in a maelstrom of dark magic, making her cry out in terror. Alfor rushed to help her, only to be knocked back by the force of the magic, which whirled higher and higher like a cyclone, and when at last it cleared, Princess Allura was gone, and in her place stood a huge, roaring dragon.

Alfor and his wife never stood a chance. The dragon dispatched them both in a white-hot inferno of flames where they stood, leaving nothing but ashes behind. The dragon had been blinded by a strange and uncontrollable fury, a fury that belonged to Haggar and her magic, and so after it had done the terrible deed, the fog cleared and it flew away in a flurry of tears and terror – for the dragon was the princess, you see, and she had just murdered her own parents at the witch’s behest.

Princess Allura retreated to the Galran mountains, for she did not know where else to go, and they did not bat eyes at dragon shifters there. She watched over the valley of Altea with a sense of dread. The tendrils of darkness she had unknowingly released wound their way over the land like a horde of venomous snakes, slithering into towns and farms and sending screams echoing throughout the kingdom. 

Later they would call that dark magic the Corruption, for though it did not kill those it touched, it twisted them into something _else,_ made them cruel and inhuman. Some said it must have rotted their very heart away, so that they were unable to feel even the smallest shred of empathy, much less love. They were little more than shadows of their former selves, unfeeling, uncaring, drawn to all things violent and evil.

Haggar watched from the ruins of Zarkon’s fortress, content in knowing that her enemies would suffer for decades to come. Then she sent her son, Prince Lotor, to find the grieving princess, and take her under his wing.

Prince Lotor found her weeping in a cold and lonely cave, and told her that her own people had set the trap to dethrone and destroy her family and everyone loyal to them, and persuaded the young and frightened girl that all of Altea had turned against her, and therefore she must turn against them.

And then Princess Allura was angry, and made a promise that she would make her kingdom pay for the pain they had wrought.

*

_Six Years Later_

Shiro hated the snow. 

Oh, it was pretty enough, he supposed – there was something undeniably appealing about the expanse of pure, untouched powder, something enchanting in the way it piled upon tree boughs and windowsills and rooftops, something awe-inspiring in seeing the world, which had once been vivid with color and texture, so entirely blanketed in smooth, cold, white. 

But up close – up close, it was awful. Especially when one was wearing armor, as Shiro almost always was. The other knights had often complained about warm summers, but the cold was far worse to Shiro, and not even his heavy winter cloak could keep it out. Freezing metal seemed to burn bare skin, so concentrated was its cold, and the ice made it lock up at the joints, so that knights became great, clamorous, clanking beasts lumbering through the snow with the dexterity of a sentient tree trunk, which was to say, none at all. 

Shiro supposed other Alteans already considered them beasts, as it was, and some days he could not blame them for that. The Corruption spread through their bodies like any disease – some could fight it, while others succumbed steadily. And others, like Shiro, tracked its slow but inevitable progress towards their heart with a mixture of deep foreboding and determination to stop it, somehow, before it could stop them.

Nearly Shiro’s entire right arm was taken by the Corruption, and the dark violet veins of it had begun to wind like searching vines over his upper arm and shoulder, a promise of their inevitable spread. He and his company, the Blades of Marmora, had all been touched indirectly by the Corruption – it had started with his pinky finger, nothing more. 

For Keith, it had been a small dark spot on his ear, now spread across the whole right side of his face, turning one eye glowing gold, erasing the white and pupil altogether. His hair on that side of his head had become more like smoke, and the veins had begun to continue under his jaw and down his neck. Shiro swore they were closer to his chest every day, and did not know what he would do when Keith was consumed fully by the Corruption. It had already taken Thace, Ulaz, Regris, and Antok. 

But Shiro couldn’t think about that, or he would fall into a pit of despair, one from which there was no escape. He had to continue believing that the escape existed, that the rumors were to be believed – that the death of the dragon which terrorized Altea was the key to stopping the Corruption once and for all. 

The dragon and the Corruption had appeared at the same time six years ago, after all – the Corruption had spread across the kingdom after the dragon killed the royal family. It was a Galra, there was no doubt about that, but no one knew who it was or how it had appeared so suddenly that fateful day. And it had returned to bring fear and fire to Altea again and again, though in recent years its visits to the valley had become few and far between.

After the royal family was murdered, a Council assembled to rule the kingdom in their stead, until a new monarch could be instated. Shiro did not know when that would ever be – the Council was enjoying their power, that much was clear. The Blade of Marmora had a friend on the Council, Councillor Coran, but he could tell them little about the Council’s future plans and Altea’s future leadership. 

Shiro had been at the palace during the attack. He had been much younger than, as Sir Ulaz’s fifteen year old squire, and had fond childhood memories of his life there. His fondest memories were of Princess Allura, who he had admired from afar with a great deal of respect. Keith, who had been Sir Thace’s twelve year old squire, had often teased him about it. It had been a foolish hope, for no squire would ever be with a princess, and they both knew that.

But Shiro’s admiration for Princess Allura had extended far past a simple childhood crush. She had been the future of Altea, would one day be the Queen, and Shiro had known with every fiber of his being that she would be the best ruler Altea had ever seen. Plenty of other little lords and ladies visited the palace grounds, but Princess Allura was always the brightest of them, and yet the humblest and kindest, too. She was never one to boast or push others aside for her own gain, and she always extended a helping hand to those who needed one. 

Shiro had only met her officially once.

He had been fourteen, in the stables grooming Sir Ulaz’s horse, a fair black stallion named Lionel who was his horse now. Shiro had been singing a song to the horse, a silly country ballad about ponies and races and fields of wildflowers, and a small soft voice had said, “You have a lovely voice.”

Shiro had looked up in surprise, only to drop the brush in shock when he saw Princess Allura standing outside Lionel’s stall, beaming up at him and holding a glossy red apple in her hands. “Princess!” he had exclaimed, hurrying to bow, but she’d only giggled and shook her head at him, and he’d felt rather foolish.

“I’ve brought an apple for Sir Ulaz’s mount,” she’d told him seriously. “He is a very pretty horse, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Shiro had agreed, cautious. “Lionel is a good, strong steed; perfect for a royal knight.”

“Strong,” she’d repeated, and frowned. “Is that all you knights ever talk about? Strength?”

“Er, well,” Shiro had stammered, “I suppose honor and loyalty are quite important too, Your Highness –”

“Yes, yes,” she’d said, waving a hand, “that they are. But you mustn’t go through life only thinking of such things, Squire…”

“Shirogane, Your Highness.”

“Squire Shirogane,” she repeated, and smiled. Shiro’s stomach had been filled with butterflies at the sight. “Well, Squire Shirogane, here is what I think. I think those knightly things are all well and good, but you also ought to see the beauty around you, or it will be all gone before you know it. And I think the world without beauty would not be much of a world at all.”

“Beauty,” he had repeated, puzzled. “Like flowers, Your Highness?”

She had snorted, a rather unladylike sound that had strangely only intensified the butterflies. “Oh, flowers, yes, though that’s rather unoriginal. But it can be found in most everything, Squire Shirogane – in this horse, for example. See how his black coat shines in the sunlight, and how elegant the lines of his long legs are? It seems quite artistic to me, as if someone sculpted him with the utmost attention to detail.” She had given him a long and searching look, and he had fought the overwhelming urge to kneel under her scrutiny. Then she had murmured, “I think some people are like that, too.”

“Beautiful?” Shiro had repeated dumbly. 

Princess Allura had just laughed quietly, fed Lionel the apple, and walked away, her blue skirts rustling in the breeze. Shiro had been stunned for several minutes, until Lionel, having finished his apple, butted impatiently against Shiro’s shoulder and knocked him out of his lovestruck haze.

But Princess Allura was dead, now, and the world did feel quite like one with no beauty left in it, and that thought filled Shiro with newfound resolve as he climbed the snowy mountain peak towards the dragon’s lair.

No one had dared to try to find the dragon itself, as far as Shiro knew – if they had, they had never returned. But he would return; he was determined. It would only be a few months at most before the Corruption spread to his heart, then to Keith’s, and Shiro could not let that happen. Countless others were suffering in the same way, waiting as their skin turned to flesh that was not their own, inhumanly strong and crackling with magic the same dull purple color as the dragon’s scales. Shiro knew that the dragon was behind it all, somehow, and he would find out how or die trying.

The peak narrowed to a jagged crown of rock, and Shiro took a moment to catch his breath and plan his approach. The Galra were cave-dwellers, even Zarkon’s fortress had been mostly composed of caves carved from solid stone. Caves were hard to ambush, but Shiro felt sure he’d be able to find a smaller tunnel through which to enter and catch the dragon by surprise. He’d been watching its flight patterns, and all of them led back to here – the mountain wasn’t at all deep in Galra territory, rather it was on the fringes, which Shiro found odd. 

It was common knowledge after the Council’s long investigation that the Corruption was caused by Zarkon’s widow Haggar’s magic. It was a classic curse, according to Councillor Coran, and therefore there must be a way to break it. But there was no reaching Haggar in her heavily guarded fortress; Altea’s military force had been decimated over the years as more and more fell prey to the Corruption. The Blades were one of the last bastions for the kingdom, and the purple dragon was a much easier target, or so Shiro hoped. 

The scent of sulfur stung his nostrils as he continued the trek up, and he saw the dark edge of a cave which he hastily skirted around, picking his way among the snowy boulders and searching for another entrance. At length, he was forced to admit defeat, and slowly drew his sword as he entered the main cavern. It was certainly large enough for a dragon, yet it was not adorned with skeletons and hoards of treasure as he had half-expected. Upon first glance it seemed empty, but as Shiro peered into the shadows, he saw a great dark mass towards the back of the cave, rising and falling in rumbling, even breaths. He froze, steadying his hands on his sword hilt, his right hand crackling with magic despite his best attempts to control it. 

It must have been this magic which alerted the dragon to his presence, and Shiro had hardly taken a step forward before the beast leapt to its feet and whirled around with a snarl, bounding forward and baring its teeth, each as long as one of Keith’s knives. This was obviously an unfortunate turn of events, but at the same he felt that if the dragon had sensed his Corrupted arm, he must be right about link between them.

The dragon glared at him with piercing blue eyes, pawing at the stone in an agitated sort of way. Then it spoke, which should not have been a surprise as Galra were quite capable of speech, but caught Shiro off-guard anyway. 

“Who are you?” it growled, and its voice was...feminine, he swore, albeit raspy with disuse and edged with anger. “Who sent you, Altean?!”

“I sent myself,” Shiro replied, lifting his sword. The dragon eyed it, and him, as if beetles to be swiftly crushed underfoot. Yet it made no move towards him. “My name is Sir Shirogane, and I have come to slay you to rid our kingdom of the Corruption that befell it on the same day you arrived six years ago.”

The dragon’s eyes widened and it seemed to flinch back for a moment, spiked tail lashing behind it. Then its eyes narrowed again and it hissed, “Do not play coy, Sir Shirogane. Slaying me will do nothing to stop the Corruption – you Alteans did that to yourself, to dethrone the royal family. How is the Council faring these days?” This was spat in pure disgust.

Shiro blinked, taken aback and confused. “What? The Alteans did not create the curse – the Galran witch Haggar did, I suppose to avenge Zarkon. Surely you know this –”

The dragon glared at him, shaking its head furiously. “Lies! The Council told you this, I suppose? Did you never consider their investigation to be no more than a sham to justify their own rise to power? The Galra had nothing to do with it!”

Then it was Shiro’s turn to get angry. “How can you say such a thing?” he exclaimed. “You killed the royal family that day, and you are one of them –”

He was cut off by a massive forepaw crushing him against the stones, hot breath in his face and rows of gleaming white teeth inches from his skin. “I am not,” the dragon gritted out, “one of them.” It – she? – sounded almost on the verge of tears. But this was a foolish notion, as dragons could not cry, nor would they, as they did not feel remorse.

Shiro’s sword had been thrown from his hands when the dragon struck him; he was unarmed, shielded only by his armor. He supposed the dragon would kill him now, a bad end to a bad day spent climbing through snowy rocks. He hoped Lionel would be able to get free from where Shiro had tied him lower down on the mountain slopes. He struggled halfheartedly against the dragon’s grip, stilling when the claws dug into his armor hard enough to dent it. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Shiro panted, “but the curse is Haggar’s doing. The Altean people would never do this to ourselves...the Corruption is destroying our kingdom from the inside out. Only a powerful, cruel enemy would do this to us.”

The dragon’s face twisted. “It serves you right,” she snapped. But she did not sound nearly as certain as before.

“How?” Shiro asked. “How is it possibly justifiable that hundreds should suffer now for something the Galra did to us? Mothers have died, children too – entire families ripped apart.”

She shook her horned head. “It was not – the Galra did not –” Then she faltered, and lifted her other forepaw over him, and Shiro braced himself for the killing blow...but instead she picked delicately at the armor covering his right arm with a sharp, curved claw. When the plate fell away to reveal the pulsing, writhing purplish shadow there, she recoiled, and looked at him in a new way. “You are a Corrupted knight,” she said, both accusatory and shocked.

“I had no part in the curse,” Shiro retorted. “I did not deserve this, nor did my fellow knights. Four of our company have already fallen. Do you know how difficult it is to slay your own mentor, your own brothers?”

The dragon released him with a sound somewhere in between a growl and a sob. “You know nothing of my suffering, knight.”

Shiro hastily got to his feet, surprised that he was still in one piece. He raised an eyebrow and pointed to his revealed arm. “I think I might know a few things, dragon.”

The dragon was crouched in a defensive position, belly low and tail curled close around her legs, wings half-spread. She stared at him warily – Shiro had still not gone to retrieve his sword. He thought it best to just continue talking for now, since the dragon was surprisingly inclined to conversation over killing. 

“How much longer?” she asked after a long pause. “Until...until you fall, too?”

Shiro bit his lip and shrugged. “Two months, perhaps three if I am lucky.”

She closed her eyes briefly, as if overcome, and Shiro did consider snatching up the sword and seizing the moment of weakness – but it felt...wrong. Ridiculously, it felt like he’d be attacking an unarmed being, though the dragon was hardly defenseless. Yet for a second, the dragon looked vulnerable, and so Shiro hesitated. 

Then she said something utterly baffling. “You trained as a squire at the palace.”

Shiro took a step back. “You...how would you know such a thing?”

“You were younger, then,” she continued, taking a step forward as he took another back, almost prowling. “With black hair, no white. No scars, either. Yes, I remember you.”

Shiro stared up at her, speechless. “I...I don’t remember you?” he managed weakly, and she tilted her head, and there was something impossibly familiar in the gesture...but he had no time to consider it, because there was a sudden rush of wind and wings from outside the cave, and the dragon stiffened, her ears pricking.

She glanced at the cave entrance, then to Shiro, and seemed to reach some sort of decision, because then she lunged. Shiro expected the agonizing bite of fangs through crumpling metal, but although her jaws closed around him she held him carefully, and deposited him on the opposite side of the cave, behind a tumble of boulders near the very back. Her teeth had not even pierced the armor. 

“Quiet,” she warned, and turned back to face the visitor after kicking Shiro’s sword off to the side, concealed among the pebbles. Heart in his throat, Shiro peered around the boulders, and swallowed a gasp when another dragon padded inside, carrying a panicking Lionel in his clutches. “Prince Lotor,” the she-dragon greeted, tone cool and polite.

So this was Prince Lotor, Haggar’s son and Zarkon’s eventual successor. His scales were silver-white, eyes dark blue and gold, and he barely inclined his head to the she-dragon. “Look what I found,” he crooned, holding out the poor horse. Shiro dug his nails into his palm to stop himself from running to Lionel. Damn it all, he never should have tied him there. Lionel was a smart horse, he could have found his way back home...and now he was doomed to be Galran supper, and Shiro would have to watch.

Or so he thought. The she-dragon did not seem so keen on eating Lionel, for she snapped, “Really, Lotor? These slopes are practically swarming with mountain sheep and you just had to steal an unlucky Altean horse?”

Lotor scowled. “If you must know, it was tied on the slopes of your mountain and has the regalia of a knight’s horse, which means a trespasser is afoot. Have you seen such a trespasser, dear Allura?”

Shiro swayed on his feet. No. _No,_ that was...Princess Allura was dead. Long dead. And yet...and yet the dragon’s eyes were hers, and the dragon’s voice was hers too, albeit older and rougher. And suddenly the pieces began to fall into place, especially as the two dragons continued conversing, and Shiro felt faint with the weight of the realization.

“No, I have not,” Allura said. “Have you? Or did you think your time was better spent horse thieving?”

“Do not be so blasé about this,” Lotor warned. “If an Altean knight found you, it would be your end.”

Allura’s tail flicked. “You are quite certain of this, I see. Do you think me unable to fend off any snooping knights? Or is there another reason you’re so eager to keep me hidden away?”

“Speak plainly, Princess,” Lotor said sharply. 

“I have been thinking,” Allura said, “about what you and your mother have told me. About the councillors’ greed and the Alteans cursing their own kingdom, their own royal family...and a few things do not seem to add up.”

Lotor dropped Lionel, and the horse was so stunned he could only hobble away several feet and stand off to the side, shaking. The prince advanced upon Allura, ears pinned back. “You doubt what we have told you? It is the truth. The councillors staged a coup, nevermind that their own people were caught in the crossfire, and they blamed it on us –”

“No,” Allura said. “Not us. I am not one of you, Lotor, do not forget that.”

“No?” He laughed, and it was not a kind sound. “But you have been trapped in this form for six years, Princess. In that way, you are more Galra than my mother and I will never be, for you can never shift back. At this rate, I think you must be more beast than princess.”

Allura flinched and Shiro glowered at Lotor from behind the boulders. “Never?” she whispered. “But...you told me your mother was creating a, a cure, a way to break the curse…”

Lotor’s lip curled. “Maybe she is,” he drawled, “but only if you’re good, Princess. This mouthy behavior does not merit any such cure.”

Allura glared at him, the tension palpable between them. “Or maybe you and your mother are lying,” she snapped. “Maybe you are trying to cover your own tracks.”

“Is this why you have been attacking Altea so infrequently as of late?” Lotor demanded angrily. “Because you are a doubting coward? Have you forgotten what they forced you to do to your own parents?!”

“I am not so certain anymore that it was Alteans who did it,” Allura started, and stopped as Lotor’s gaze caught a glint of silver among the pebbles, which he cleared away, the sword shining bright and unmistakable under them. 

The white dragon snarled, smoke curling from his flared nostrils. “Oh, Princess,” Lotor growled, “I think it is you who are the liar. Where is he?”

Shiro held his breath, ducking down and fully out of sight. Allura’s shadow fell over him as she backed up. “Long gone,” she retorted. “I scared him off. But not before he said some very interesting things.”

“Princess –”

“Is it true?!” she half-cried. “Is it true that my death would end the Corruption and break the curse?”

“Your death?” Lotor repeated, and scoffed. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“So you do know,” Allura whispered, horrified, “because you and Haggar...you were the ones…”

Lotor sighed, voice low and dangerous when he said, “It’s honestly incredible that you believed us this long. Oh, well...we enjoyed keeping you alive while it lasted, because I believe it gave my mother great joy to see your pain and grief transform into fury and despair and over the years, but I see we can no longer allow you to live.”

“But – but if you kill me, then the Corruption will end –”

“You idiot, of course it won’t end,” Lotor said. “My mother’s curse thrives on death and violence, so it will continue long after you’re gone...and in fact, your death will only serve to further ensure its continuation. You see, the only way to break this curse is for a Corrupted Altean to forgive you, and as such a thing will never happen –”

“I forgive you!” Shiro cried without thinking, standing up and looking Allura in the eye as she turned to face him in disbelief. “I forgive you for everything, Princess Allura.”

Lotor’s eyes flew wide. _“NO!”_ he howled, lunging for the knight, but Allura moved to block him...only to fall to the ground in a heap, body convulsing with spasms and surrounded by the same dark smoke that had filled the sky on the day of the Corruption. Lotor sneered. “What terrible timing, knight,” he snapped. “The curse will not break if I kill her before she transforms.”

But Shiro was already running for his sword, and Lotor’s attention was divided as he reached it and swung, sending the white dragon leaping back with a hiss, swiping at Shiro and opening his jaws wide, fire glowing in his throat…

...and then Princess Allura gasped, “Sir Shirogane, get down!” and Shiro fell to his knees at once at the order, and the cavern was alight with brilliant violet dragonfire as Princess Allura lifted her head with the last of her strength and engulfed Prince Lotor in flames. The prince’s shrieks of pain echoed terribly through the cavern, and he scrambled away, trailing smoke as he leapt into the sky with his tattered wings, fleeing like the coward he was. 

Princess Allura’s head lolled lifelessly as soon as he was gone, and without a second thought Shiro ran to the dragon’s side, laying a gentle palm upon her scales. She shuddered at the contact, and whispered, “They called you Shiro, at the palace...the other knights...didn’t they?” Shiro nodded, and she sighed, eyes falling shut. “Thank you, Shiro...I always thought you were a good man. More than that, a...a beautiful one.” Shiro’s breath caught and she swallowed, the scales fading from her skin. “Do you remember what I told you...all those years ago, about beautiful things?”

“Like my horse,” Shiro murmured, “yes, Princess, I remember – of course I remember. You were...I admired you, very much.”

“Admired me,” she said, barely audible. “Oh...I suppose you must be disappointed...for it was me who brought the Corruption upon Altea...I did not mean to, but I should have known…”

“You could not have known,” Shiro assured, and she shivered again, the shadows wreathing closer around her, hiding her from view, and yet Shiro kept speaking, kept telling her how she was forgiven, how it was not her fault, how she must have been hurt too, how the kingdom needed her even after everything.

And in the end, when it happened, it was almost graceful. The shadows cleared slowly, and in the dragon’s place was the princess, curled in on herself, silvery hair grown long and covering her bare body. Flushing, Shiro hastily draped his cloak over her, but her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him and beamed, so genuine and overjoyed that he faltered, his hand lingering too-long upon her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Princess –” he started, ashamed, but she just laughed, loud and wild and delighted, and tugged him into a tight hug. 

Then she jolted back with a yelp, because it was winter, and her chest was very bare, and his armor was very cold. Shiro stammered out an apology again, and this time she shook her head, still smiling, and pulled him into a careful kiss instead, and _that_ shut him up quite effectively. He let his hands slide carefully to her cheek and hair, and it was only then that he realized his right arm was flesh and blood again, just like that, and he kissed her all the more sweetly for it.

When the kiss broke, she whispered, “I wanted to do that ages ago, Sir Shirogane.”

He blinked at her, awed and startled. “Truly?” She nodded, averting her gaze, and he smiled helplessly and cupped her jaw gently. “So did I, Princess.”

“Your hand,” she breathed, and looked at him with simple, soft relief that Shiro felt to his very core. “It’s...it’s over. The curse is broken...thanks to you.”

“And you,” Shiro said firmly. She opened her mouth to protest but he reminded her, “You did set the Galran prince on fire, Your Highness.” She flushed and put her head in her hands and he squeezed her shoulder with a quiet laugh. “That has to count for something.”

She peered up at him through her fingers. “Where will I go now?” she whispered. “What will I do?”

“Why, claim your throne, of course,” Shiro said, and she frowned. “Princess...they will be glad to see you. I can promise you that much...and I can promise that I will vouch for you, and your part in breaking the curse.”

She bit her lip, slowly lifting her hand to his face, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw, eyes wide with hope, clearly wanting so badly to believe him that Shiro’s heart ached. He would give her the world, if he could. 

“Altea needs a queen,” he told her gently.

“And a king,” she added. Shiro’s jaw dropped, and she giggled. “Or, for now, a very good knight.”

He smiled, and turned his face into her palm, kissing it tenderly. “I believe that can be arranged, Princess,” he said, and thought that the world had never really lost its beauty after all.


End file.
